


call me a rude prince

by nasaplates



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Language, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates
Summary: A handful of Seventeen members enlist, Minghao tries to re-calibrate. And then Junhui crashes his freak out because he gets sick of waiting for his best friend slash platonic soulmate to come back to him.





	call me a rude prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miuyi (rainiest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/gifts).
  * Inspired by [November](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336263) by [miuyi (rainiest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/pseuds/miuyi). 

> thank you to the K-pop Ficmix mods for running this exchange, it's been a lot of fun and I look forward to doing it again!
> 
> to miuyi, I adore November and I hope I do it justice with my remix <3
> 
> E, as always, this is for you

Junhui is sitting in a quiet corner of a restaurant, head only just stopped splitting from the absolutely fucking attrocious hangover he woke up at noon with. Minghao is across from him, but there's still an impenetrable wall between them, Jun tossing pebbles at it when he got too tired of throwing himself, only to bounce off with only bruises to show for it. The wall is going to crumble, or rather, Minghao is at the drawbridge, peeking out, but Jun can tell it's going to take him a moment, so he waits.

And while he waits, he thinks.

Everyone always says begin at the beginning but first off, that's boring, and second off, Jun would have to go back to birth, practically, to explain all the ways he and Minghao are entangled. Gemini and Scorpio, Jun waiting over a year for Minghao to exist, Jun waiting even longer to know that's what he had been waiting for. Mandarin and Korean, names spoken properly, for once, a familiar voice in the dorms. Mismatched in so many ways it worked perfectly. Too perfectly. Blowjobs and broken hearts, blah blah blah.

Well. Okay, not blah blah blah. Junhui looked at Minghao one day, a couple years back, and thought, "Oh." And then he thought, "Why not?" And then he thought of a laundry list of reasons _ 'why not' _and then he pulled Minghao into a sloppy teenaged kiss under the spray of dorm showers anyway.

So maybe he had gone back to the beginning after all. Sue him.

It was good. No, objectively, it was terrible, Jun having had ample practice at sucking someone off but precisely zero practice at sucking someone off _ he actually liked_. But they both liked it, judging by the bruises Minghao left on Jun's shoulders and the way he went wide eyed and hazy watching Jun jerk himself off. They did it again. And again, and again, until Jun had started, maybe, possibly, to think they'd just...never stop.

He didn't bemoan his life, publicly closeted gay idol living in dorms with so many beautiful men, knowing that coming out would mean a giant meat cleaver came down on not only his own career but twelve other people's, too. Junhui had made peace with it, for now, to the degree to which he ever made peace with anything which mostly meant fucking his best friend and possibly the love of his life as often and as furtively as he could get away with. Someday, when they were both too old to hack it as professional dancers anymore, maybe they'd have a little house together somewhere, and a cat Minghao pretended to only tolerate even though he secretly adored it and gave it so many treats it got quickly and happily fat off them.

And then, one day, Minghao stopped him with Junhui's hands ready to undo the buckle on his belt. 

"Nah," he said, blunt, straight faced. "We shouldn’t, right? We probably shouldn’t have even started.”

Somewhere in Junhui's heart, a fat purring cat erupted into a puff of fur and the sound of tinkling glass. 

Minghao loved him. Junhui saw it all over his face, the way it was casual stone carefully laid over worry, and he knew it in places that words couldn't reach, anyway. He'd watched a documentary once about drug testing and how some chemicals still show up in your hair and fingernails long after you're no longer exposed to them. Junhui thought Minghao's love was like that. They'd find it all over the murder scene, if Junhui came up dead. A geneticist could trace it in his fingernail clippings.

So, he dropped his hands, and said, "All right." Because it was. The regret on Minghao's face told him so.

He figured it out, eventually, why Minghao did it, when he got the pattern that Minghao never fucked around with another idol, when it was only quick and meaningless fucks that he forced himself not to hide from Jun, probably because Minghao would’ve wanted to know, if it was the other way around. Junhui understood. It was fine.

Until five members all enlisted at once and Minghao imploded over it.

It was easy to see Minghao imploding, when he was the person you spent the most time looking at every single day for nearly 10 years. Steady nod, shaky hands. Eyes that wouldn’t _ quite _ land on anyone anymore, texts that were there, technically, but said nothing.

It was easy to know Minghao had pulled up the drawbridge of his heart when Jun found himself on the outside of it for the first time since he’d wormed his way inside.

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo all had a nice little shaved-head photo op with the whole group, everyone saying goodbye and smiling for cameras even though they weren’t even enlisting on the same day. Junhui made sure to rub all of their bald heads for luck, and smack kisses on their cheeks, and generally do what he could to make them all laugh. Minghao, well. He was there, but he wasn’t, really. Bag packed to head for the airport immediately afterwards, robotic idol smile in place, empty eyes that tried to look straight ahead as much as he could. He forgot to say goodbye when he left, one second Junhui was jumping on Mingyu’s back to distract him from the panic in his eyes, and the next second Junhui turned around and Minghao was gone.

The dorms were terrifyingly empty that night. Junhui felt like his bones were going to rattle out of his skin with the loneliness he felt, because they’d all been away from each other before, they all had solo and subunit schedules, it was always hit or miss who was going to be in the dorms unless it was comeback season. But it was different, knowing it would be years until they were all together again.

_ I miss you_. Junhui hit send on the text to Minghao before he could run more circles through his mind about it all.

Minghao never replied.

So, Junhui gave him space, which generally meant only double texting him if he found a SUPER cute cat video or took an especially ridiculous selfie he knew Minghao would love. He mostly stuck to the group chat, and only harassed him about not replying in front of the others maybe a tenth of the times he wanted to.

Junhui gave him three months. And then he charmed his way into a campaign shoot in Hong Kong and convinced the extremely cheap official Seventeen scheduler to put him in Minghao’s room, and not tell him because “he needs his rest.” The last bit probably wasn’t necessary because she’d already moved on with a harried expression to whatever the fuck Mingyu and Vernon were doing and that was that.

One suitcase, one flight, one _ vague _ fear that Minghao might actually be pissed at the intrusion, and he was pushing open the door to _ his _ hotel room, technically, to see Minghao’s face. The abject, unhidden, absolute relief in Minghao’s expression told him everything he needed to know.

Things were...okay. Minghao was still withdrawn, still pinched around the eyes, tight in the shoulders, jumped when Junhui put a hand on his neck to massage the wire-taut muscles there. But Minghao always brushed it off and played it cool, only sometimes shrugged him away and played the bro card. It was okay. 

But when Halloween came around, well, it only stood to reason that Junhui needed to stage an intervention. Which mostly consisted of buying horrible costumes and making plans to get so drunk Minghao would be willing to talk about his feelings. Or get so drunk one of them did something stupid and then they would _ have _ to talk about it, and their feelings, in the morning. Jun wasn't picky.

Snippets of the night stick out for him.

First: "Don't you ever wonder?" Junhui asked, watching the ordinary people go by, with their ordinary lives, their low stakes loves. Another Batman walked by, hand in hand with his Robin. Anything was possible under a mask. The Dark Knight saluted Minghao but Minghao didn't see it. 

"No, not really," Minghao said, and Junhui just looked at him, the shutters in front of his eyes the only part of his face he could read.

"Right," Junhui said, chuckling darkly at himself on the inside. "Of course you don't."

And then: Minghao on the dancefloor of the club, only pulled away from making considering eyes at Blossom when Junhui played with fire by joking they were celebrities and that was why they wouldn't take off their masks.

"You're out of your mind," he says, trying for angry but the alcohol has loosened him up enough Junhui can hear the laugh he remembers, buried deep. "Do you just say whatever comes into your head?"

The lights are a whirlwind, Junhui's brain sloshing inside his skull. They both keep perfect time anyway. Minghao's hips move like they always do, like they always did, when they dance on the stage, when they danced in bed. Junhui knows the rhythm of those hips like a metronome, like the beating of his heart.

"No," he says. "Not always."

Later: Jun kisses him. He doesn't question if he'll remember it in the morning, he knows he will. He wonders if he'll regret it, but he doubts it. It's not even the kiss he wants (even though he always does, really, Minghao's a great kisser and they know each other so well it's like coming home). He just wants Minghao to let him in. Throwing his lips at the castle gates, and the welcome is about what you'd expect.

"Woah. No, definitely not." It's expected, a known, if this then that. If Junhui kisses Minghao then Minghao will pull a very large "no homo." The earth turns, the sun will rise. Minghao will still sleep next to him and let him watch shitty TV to fall asleep.

It was a test, maybe, but it's hard to tell through the haze of alcohol. Junhui dreams there is a ribbon tied to each of their wrists, tangled in the sheets between them.

Back at the table, in the restaurant, head still dull and fuzzy and vaguely poisoned, Minghao sitting across from him. The drawbridge creaks as it lowers word by word.

"I suppose we should talk or something," Minghao says, glancing up at him and then away.

"I suppose we should." Opening moves, ritual enquiry. I'm here, are you? Yes. Always yes, for you.

Minghao takes a handful of seconds to frown at his glass of water, elegant fingertips gathering droplets from the side, watching them slide back down to pool on the little colorful coaster.

"I should've explained properly, back then. Why we had to stop doing all that stuff. You deserved a proper explanation." Serious, blunt.

Begin at the beginning. Minghao always has been the reasonable sort.

Junhui is careful, because if he laughs at him for thinking he didn't already know the explanation, then the drawbridge will go back up again, game over. This is important. He focuses.

"I did, but I think I mostly understood anyway. For the group, right? Shit like that always detonates sooner or later unless you cut the fuse." Junhui doesn't think it would've, with them. A fat and happy zombie cat purrs in the graveyard of all the other dreams Junhui has laid to rest. It's okay. It's okay.

"Yeah. That's exactly it." The surprise in Minghao's voice should be insulting but Junhui's already moved on.

He's thinking about the kiss, last night, about Minghao, still drunk, setting out garbage cans on both sides of the bed, just in case they got sick in the night. He's thinking about a single ribbon, tied to two wrists.

"I shouldn't have kissed you last night, that was my bad," Junhui says, makes sure Minghao knows he means it, even if it makes his eyes tilt in concern. "I guess I just missed you. The dorms are…" terrifying. "...different, with everyone gone. I think if you were there, I would mind a little less."

Minghao takes that like a slow-motion blow. Junhui can watch it bloom on his face like a bruise, Minghao leaning back against the wall at a measured pace to absorb it. He can't look at Junhui, different than when he just _ didn't_.

"I guess I'm just trying not to think about it," Minghao says like splinters in his fingertips. "The less I talk to you guys, the easier it is to pretend there are twelve people back at the dorm. Which is selfish as fuck, I know.”

He says 'selfish' like it's a knife he's going to use on himself. There's something admirable in a man who feels that badly about taking something for himself. There's something stupid as all fuck in a man like that too. But then again, Junhui can relate on a level only the man in front of him really knows.

"Hey," he says, detached in a way he knows Minghao finds calming. "you know they’re coming back, right? They left in what, July? It’s already November. If you round up that’s like, a quarter of the time until they come back that’s already passed.”

Minghao works his jaw like he's chewing glass, and then spits the words like they're shards. "Until they come back to what?"

_ Fucking finally_, Junhui thinks. They're all bright boys, they all know it's a long, tough road ahead of them from here, between enlistments and "old age" in an industry that makes all its money off the revolving door. They're a family. And they all know that someday, sooner than any of them want, they'll have to figure out how to be individuals, too. It's taken Minghao all these months to finally stop running from that.

"Do you remember those few months before we debuted?" Junhui says. "It felt like we were all losing our minds, pretending like a bunch of sweaty kids spending sixteen hours a day in the practice room could ever amount to anything." Something swells in Junhui's chest when he thinks about those days. Training rooms full of tiny Icarus's, working on their wings. 

“But we did," he continued. "I can’t promise another eight years, but this is not just your problem. We’ll work something out, just like we did back then. And the last thing you should be doing is pulling away from the only other people in the world who get it.”

Minghao is still, watchful. He's careful, when he says, "Is that what we are? The only two people in the world who get it?"

Oh.

There's a tug on the metaphorical ribbon for the first time in months. Something in Junhui's chest shifts, just a little.

"I don't know," he says, honest. "Does it matter?" he says, still honest, putting that thought on the shelf. "Isn't what you actually feel more important than why you feel it?"

Minghao laughs, and oh he missed that laugh. "I don't know what I feel. That might be my problem."

Junhui grins, ready to dodge if Minghao kicks him for it. "That's definitely your problem. You act like you can find the answer to anything if you just think it over long and hard enough. People don’t work like that, though. People feel things they can’t always explain.”

"And that's why people get hurt," Minghao says, immediate, unfiltered. "If I can understand something, I can control it. Nothing hurts as much if I see it coming.”

_ Ah_, Junhui thinks.

"Ah," Junhui says, "and you didn’t see this one coming, did you? That’s why you can’t just accept it. You feel like they betrayed us.”

That gets Minghao's back up. "I didn't say that."

“But it’s true," Junhui says, because this is important. Junhui has let Minghao hide from this for long enough. "You know they didn’t want to go, but you still can’t help feeling left behind.”

Minghao takes that less like a blow and more like an ice pack: he still flinches from the sting and closes his eyes against it, but his shoulders drop and he sighs. "Stop," he says, "you're making me sound like a terrible person."

"No, I’m making you sound like a person," Junhui counters. "A person who is feeling things he can’t explain. That’s what we do. Welcome to the club.”

"Thanks," Minghao says, aiming for sarcastic but landing on fond instead. “It’s terrible. What do we do to make it less terrible?”

"Sleep with our friends, usually."

Minghao's laugh rings like a bell, drawing attention to the table, siren song of relieved joy.

"You're right," Minghao says, "that does make it less terrible."

There's one more thing to be said, and so, as he always does, Junhui just says it. “But we’re not gonna be those kinds of friends anymore, are we?” He's more curious how Minghao will phrase it, than what the answer is.

Minghao thinks, the thoughts curling across his face in a language Junhui can only make educated guesses at. All he knows is it's nice, to be allowed to see them again.

"No," he says, like Junhui knew he would. "it won't be like that anymore. Is that what you want?"

Junhui knows he could say _ Yes, you see, there's a little house with a cat you pretend not to like, but you love it so much you give it so many treats it's the fattest and happiest cat you've ever seen. _ And he knows he could say _ Every time you dance I want to fall on my knees for you and sometimes my jaw aches with a longing I think only your cock will fulfill_. 

But for the first time he realizes it wouldn't be true, not really.

"I just want the distance to go away," he says, and it's a relief that stating the obvious probably shouldn't be. "I don’t mean the one between Seoul and Hong Kong, I mean the one you’ve been putting there. I care about that way more than where your dick goes. No offense.”

Minghao laughs in a way he only ever does for him. Junhui doesn't think he knows that, but he isn't about to tell him.

"No more distance," Minghao agrees, reflexively making space for their food on the table. "After all, it's like you said:" Minghao's face glows with a smile. "They're coming back."

***

It's three days later, ass o'clock in the morning. Junhui's getting ready for his flight back to Seoul, the shoot finished and Yanan waiting to pick him up at the airport and take him out to breakfast. 

Junhui smiles around his toothbrush, looking demented with froth. He spits and rinses, quiet to keep Minghao from coming all the way awake.

"Minghao," he says to the lump in the blankets, the way he has since they were teenagers and his name tasted like a bowl of soup and this scrawny boy was the only person in the world he wanted to share it with.

Minghao rolls over, looking adorably rumpled.

"Don't get up," Junhui whispers, "I've gotta go catch my flight."

"'Kay," Minghao says, voice sleep thick. "See you in Seoul."

Junhui grins helplessly. "Yeah, see you."

Junhui has a window seat on the plane, facing east. He watches the sun rise in fast motion, clouds in swirling pinks and reds and oranges over the sea. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, Junhui knows. He snaps a photo of it through the window and sends it to Minghao. He imagines a ribbon trailing along behind the plane, carrying it to him.

And then, Junhui pulls the shade over the window and faces forward with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3


End file.
